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Published:
2025-05-06
Completed:
2025-09-14
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2,851
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2/2
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Journalistic Independence

Summary:

The Ministry and the Daily Prophet have a mix up. Everyone else gets to enjoy the results.

Notes:

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

In the depths of the Ministry, on a lazy Monday afternoon in March, a windowless room filled with a rows of well-loathed chairs was slowly filling with people. The reporters jostled and joked and gossiped, in order of descending intensity, on: last weekend’s Kestrels vs. Arrows game, the secret love-child of the Wizengamot member Tiberius Bucklesoot, rising cost of Floo powder, and the latest fundraiser for the Society for the Tolerance of Vampires. 

The door opened. Quiet fell as a group of Aurors entered.

A woman in the second row, dark-haired and wearing witches robes of dark red, looked up from searching her bag for a quill just in time to to see Harry Potter enter. She froze, hand in mid-grasp. 

“All right, everyone, let’s get started,” Harry said, reaching the podium. ”We are pleased to announce that this morning the Auror Division has arrested five individuals here in London who were running scheme to use Divination to manipulate the muggle stock market. They have been charged with Owl fraud, conducting commercial Divination without a license, and grand larceny.” He looked out over the room. “Questions?” 

Hands rose in a flurry. In the second row, Pansy Parkinson tapped her quill, frowning. 

“Basil Wiggleswade.” 

“Where in London is this ‘stock market’?”

Harry winced. “It’s not necessarily one physical location. Muggles access the ‘stock market’ using something called a computer, but what is on the….” 

By the time his explanation was finished, the eyes of many of the reporters had glazed over. In the back row, Cressida Warble was writing in her notes, Convince editor to buy computer for office as ‘business necessity’, while Tim Savage had scrawled only, STOCK? BOND?

As Harry answered a question from the back about what types of Divination had been used, Pansy raised her hand. On her lips, a hint of a smile.  

“…but we’ll be investigating to confirm this. Next?” 

Harry scanned the crowd. 

When his eyes fell on her, he did a double take. Chairs creaked and feet shuffled as the reporters craned their necks to see. Pansy looked back steadily, hand still raised. On her ring finger, a emerald surrounded by diamonds sparkled merrily. 

Harry blinked. His expression smoothed over. “Pansy Parkinson.” 

“How long has this alleged scheme been going on?” 

“Based on our investigation, we believe that it started sometime around April or May of 2002, though the last two individuals, Gumboil and Pillsworth, only joined late 2002.” 

“I see.” 

“Yes.” Harry looked out again. “Adri—“

“—excuse me, Auror Potter,” Pansy interrupted. “Perhaps you can clarify something for me. I was under the impression that Auror Yelverton was in charge of ‘Misuses of Divination’. Was I wrong?” 

“Unfortunately Yelverton was injured last night trying to capture an escaped Hippogriff,” Harry said evenly. “And while we’re on the topic of staffing, Ms Parkinson I thought that Bard Bingley was the Daily Prophet’s reporter assigned to white collar crime?” 

“Well,” said Pansy, “Bingley is out this morning—he got stuck in a Portkey malfunction on the Shetland Islands. So it seems there’s been a lot of staffing shuffles this morning.” 

“I see,” Harry said. “Seems like that could have been communicated earlier.” 

There were several suppressed inhales in the audience. 

Pansy straightened. “Mr. Potter,” she said slowly, and in the fourth row, a reporter shifted, and muttered oh boy, under his breath, “I certainly hope you aren’t suggesting that the Prophet is required to inform the Auror Division every time a reporter gets Spattergroit or falls off their broom or goes on maternity leave. Because it would be most inappropriate for the government to try to tell our journalists what to do. After all, we here at the Prophet take journalistic independence very seriously.” 

“So that’s how it is,” Odo Trumble from The Seer muttered under his breath to Adrian Bletchely from The Daily Owl, smirking. “Whew.” 

“You’re telling me,” Adrian whispered back. 

“I don’t know what you’re attempting to imply,” Harry said, eyes glittering, “but we here at the Auror Division of course respect the freedom of press do their jobs—within the letter of the law, of course. But I also believe that open communication is also the foundation of every healthy press-government relationship.” 

“Oh,” Pansy said, lips curving up into a smile, “well, Auror Potter, it would seem we’re communicating right now, are we not? In front of all of these people?” 

In the back row, Cressida Warble from Chosen Coven snorted. 

“Does anyone else have questions?” Harry asked through gritted teeth. 

“What the fuck was that about?” Ava Smith, who had started at Muggleborn Monthly just last week as an intern, hissed to her boss, as Harry begin answering a question from Padma Patil about what had tipped off the investigation. 

“That’s Harry Potter,” Elizabeth Blair, a Muggleborn Monthly Features reporter, murmured, “and that’s Pansy Parkinson, she’s one of the Prophet’s reporters assigned to the Ministry.” 

“And?” 

“They’re engaged.” 

Ava looked back blankly. “They are?” 

“You must not read the gossip mags,” said Elizabeth, “because it’s all they ever talk about—the  ‘wedding of the decade’, they keep calling it. I swear, the girls at Witch Weekly are fucking Unspeakables—they apparently know everything up to what knickers Parkinson’s going to wear on the special day, and it’s still five months out. Anyway,” she waved her hand, “obviously, they’re not supposed to work on the same topics, but clearly there was some sort of mix up.” 

Meanwhile, in the third row, Odo leaned over, and murmured to Adrian: “Five galleons says he’s going to break character first.” 

“Nah, my money’s on her.” 

Odo shook his head. “Your funeral.” 

“Any other questions?” Harry asked the room. 

Nigel Kettleburn from Wizarding Wireless Weekly raised his hand. After a beat, Pansy raised hers. Seeing this, Nigel hastily lowered his hand. Harry stared at Nigel, begging him with his eyes, but Nigel shook his head slowly, making a sheepish what else can I do? face. Titters scattered through the rows. 

Harry looked over, defeated. “Yes?” 

“Given that it took over two years to catch these individuals, what does the Ministry plan to do to prevent something like this from happening again? Are there warning signs that could have enabled the Auror Division to catch them earlier? And how might these kinds of schemes threaten the efforts to enforce the Statute of Secrecy?” 

“Pansy.” 

“Yes, Harry?” 

Nervous laughter broke out through the room. 

Adrian let out a muffled groan. Odo leaned over, grinning. “Pay up, Bletchely.” 

“I can’t believe this,” Adrian muttered. “Isn’t he supposed to be good at being an Auror?”

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t obvious?” Pansy said innocently. “I’m asking questions.” 

“Everyone in this room already knows that the minute you get back to the office, your editor will strike everything, because I was here. So what are you doing?” 

“Well, I only thought I would help my fellow reporters out with questions.” Pansy looked around the room theatrically. “They do seem strangely quiet this morning.” 

Groans mixed with laughter. Cressida rolled her eyes.  

“How else would we enjoy the show?” Elizabeth quipped to Ava. 

“All right, all right, everyone,” said Harry. “Fun’s over. Now—does anyone who is not named Pansy Parkinson have a question?” 

Half a dozen hands flew into the air. The resulting questions carried them through the remaining 15 minutes, and before long, the press conference was breaking up. Noise rose steadily as chairs scrapped and bags were gathered and the people turned to each other to talk. 

“How’s Jorkins?” Padma Patil asked from Pansy’s left. 

“Oh, you know him,” Pansy said, rising to her feet. “He’s still trying to make the Gobstones column a thing. It’s never going to be a thing. Nobody cares about fucking Gobstones. How’s Bode?” 

“Well, he’s decided that crystal balls are the next frontier in journalism.” 

Looking up, Pansy saw that Harry was trying to catch her eye from across the room. He indicated that she should follow him to the hallway. 

“Hmm,” said Pansy to Padma, smiling, “do you think I should be scared?” 

“Oh,” Padma said, turning her head, and surveying Harry, “Absolutely.” 

 

 

Notes:

I wrote this a million years ago and never posted it because I wanted to write a second part that was smut. I may or may not write the second part eventually, but for now it stands on its own!

Comments are very much appreciated. Thank you to Mystic for hosting the fest 💚

Chapter 2

Notes:

Please note the change in rating and updated tags!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Pansy,” he said in a low voice, hand firm on her back. 

“Yes, Harry?” she said, looking at him sideways beneath her eyelashes, eyes wide and innocent. 

“What in Godric’s name was that?”

They slipped through the stream of Ministry employees, and into the empty waiting lift, the lights of the floor number glowing warm and yellow. 

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” a cool female voice announced. 

She swung around to face him. “What was what?”

He advanced on her. “Journalistic independence?” 

She let him crowd her against the wall of the lift. Yes, she was going to get exactly what she wanted today. “Open communication?” 

“All you had to do,” he said, bracing a hand by her head, and then another, caging her in, “was let everyone else ask questions.” 

“Oh,” Pansy said, fingertips skimming up the crisp edge of his Auror robes, “so just how you like me - seen and not heard?” 

“It was very simple—” he ducked his head, lips brushing her ear. 

“But you just had to be a brat.” 

Her eyes slipped shut. She shivered. She knew he felt it. 

Ding! 

The lift doors slid open smoothly. 

A mass of Ministry employees was waiting, headed by a tall elderly man. “…and that is why we must maintain the delicate environment of the Ashwinder against the greatest threats that it has ever seen—muggle skateboarding,” he was saying loudly to a group of nodding admirers. “Complacency is the enemy of…” 

He tugged her out of the lift and past the group. 

“Wait—I think that’s Al Gumboil,” Pansy said, looking over her shoulder. “I need to ask him about how they plan to deal with the invasive Gillyweed in the River Thames…” 

“You can bother him as much as you want,” Harry said, guiding her down the corridor, hand firm on the small of her back, “as soon as I’m done with you.” 

A thrill ran through her. 

Yes, precisely what she wanted. 

“Done doing what?” she said, looking up at him.  “Reciting the penal code? Discussing evidence chain of custody? Lecturing me about the Statute of Secrecy?” 

His lips quirked. “Teaching you a lesson.” 

“About what?” 

They had reached the Auror Division offices. 

“Joselin, please reschedule my 3 o’clock,” he said, as he led her past the desk of his secretary. 

To her credit, the woman did not react. Of course not—she had spent the past 30 years of her life dealing with the whims and wild schemes of Aurors. “Of course. Is there anything else you need?” 

“No, thank you,” he said over his shoulder. 

With a push of magic, the heavy office door swung open in front of him, and she followed. When she stepped inside, the door closed with a quiet click, and the shutters lowered. 

“About staying quiet.”

Her heart quickened in her chest. 

“Being quiet? But that’s easy.” 

“Oh it is, is it?” He chuckled quietly. 

He took a step forward, and she took a step back, stilettos sinking into the plush carpet. Her back hit the smooth wood of the door. 

“Let’s see how easy it is,” he murmured, stepping up right to her. Gently, gently, he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Put your hands on the door.” 

“Interesting strategy,” she said, affecting casualness. 

She flattened one palm against the door and then the other, and was answered in turn by a warm swirl of magic wrapping around each wrist, binding it to the surface. 

He sank to his knees with a swiftness that made her feel rather weak. 

He eased the silk fabric of her skirt up easily, hands skimming her hips. But when his thumb brushed over the soaked fabric of her knickers, there was only cool air. 

“Harry,” she gasped, breaking character in her surprise.

“What?” 

“I liked those.” 

“Did you?” He affected innocence with his eyes. She knew he knew, the bastard. They had discussed this little problem multiple times. 

“You know I did.” 

“You have enough to run a shop at home,” he murmured, wrapping a hand around her thigh to lift it. She wobbled for a second before he steadied her, positioning her leg over his shoulder. 

“Still,” she said, but the word came out as more a sigh at the first swipe of his tongue. 

She gritted her teeth as a finger joined his tongue. He knew exactly what she liked, what pressure against of that one spot inside her and tongue on her clit to make her legs tremble. 

A whimper slipped past her lips. It was a shot in the quiet room. 

He looked up at her, leaning back slightly. “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” she gasped. 

“Did not sound like nothing,” he said conversationally, and pushed another finger into her. Her body parted easily, wetness dripping from her as slow as honey. 

“You’re such a bastard,” she muttered.

“What was that?” 

“I said,” she inhaled sharply at the twist of his wrist, “is that all you got?” 

She regretted saying that immediately. He pressed a hard circle into her clit with his thumb. She jolted, caught between him and the hard punishing surface of the door. 

Noises climbed her throat. She bit her lip to contain them. 

His chuckle vibrated against her. “Something the matter?” 

“No,” she panted.  

But then he sucked on her clit and she was gone. 

“Fuck, fuck,” she whimpered. 

Her hips lifted without permission, pressing against his face. 

He sat back, lowering her leg to the ground, and rose to his feet. She wobbled slightly, but he spanned her waist with his hands before anything could happen.  

“Ah ah,” he murmured. She tasted herself on his lips when he kissed her. “You don’t want the whole office to hear you, do you?” 

“I hate you,” she whispered. 

“You love me,” he said, smirking. “Yield?” 

She tilted her chin up. “Never,” she breathed. 

“Good,” he said, corner of his lips curling. “Turn around.” 

Her wrists were released at once. 

Shakily, she turned and braced her hands flat against the door. The moment stretched on, taunt, as a soft pressure circled each of her wrists and froze her palms to the wood. A pulse of heat ran through her to her cunt as the gentle click of his belt buckle sounded through the empty room. 

She stood there, her legs trembling, for an age. 

Then his hands were on her. Pushing the fabric of her skirt higher. Repositioning her legs slightly. Finding the center of her back and pressing gently down. 

A moan almost escaped her lips at the first press of his cock. But she used all she had to swallow it down. 

The first strokes were shallow, gentle, but he built a rhythm, slow and steady, increasing bit by bit. She inhaled sharply as the pressure built and built and built, until— 

“Oh, god.” 

He bent over her, lips brushing her ear. “Shhh.” 

She whimpered at the change in angle. 

“What was that you said…about easy?” 

“Fuck.” 

“Do you want the whole office to know what is happening in here?” 

But he was unrelenting. He drove into her hard, head of his cock pressing each time against a place inside of her that made her mouth fall open. 

“Oh god…god…” 

“Pansy.” 

“Cast—cast a Silencing Charm, you fucking bastard,” she gasped. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the words went straight to her cunt. She clenched hard around him as a wave of magic passed through her and to the door. 

“Fuck…” he muttered, but did not relent. 

There was little words after that, only the sound of moans and gasps and skin against skin. He banded an arm around her, pulling her hands from the door, and her against him. She scrabbled for purchase, gripping his arm, crying out as she pulsed around him. 

“I’m going…” 

“Yes.” His teeth scraped her ear. “Yes.” 

“Harry.” 

The wave broke. 

She sobbed through her orgasm, shuddering. 

He came with a groan against her neck. 

“Oh my god,” she mumbled.

If he had not been holding her, she would have slid to the ground. 

He half carried her to the sofa to the side of the room. They collapsed into it. She pressed her face to his shoulder, heartbeat slowing. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on his desk. 

“So,” she said, eyes still closed, “when did you actually cast the Silencing Charm?” 

He laughed. “When I closed the door,” he said, kissing her temple. 

She opened her eyes. “That was my guess.” 

They kissed lazily. He brushed back her hair. 

“Sweet Circe,” she breathed. “I should show up for your press conferences more often.” 

He groaned. “Please don’t. I’ll never get any work done.” 

She laughed.

He raised his brows. “So are you going to admit it now?” 

She tilted her head. “Admit what?” 

“That you did it all that at the press conference on purpose?” 

“Please, Harry.” She smirked up at him. “Of course I did.”




Notes:

This is my first smut ever 😅 I've always had a terrible writer's block when it came to writing smut and it's honestly cathartic to get to finally see the idea I've had for literal years (I started this doc in December 2023 if you can believe it) on the page!

Comments are always very much loved ❤️